“No, not really,” Hettie answered petulantly. “I do not like being used.”
“I do not fancy it either, but quitting now seems hardly the right approach.”
Annon chewed on his thoughts, struggling with the dangling pieces. “Hold a moment,” he said, raising his hand. He tapped his chin, struggling to remember. It was only a few nights ago, but so much had changed that he had nearly forgotten it.
Hettie’s arms were folded defiantly, and Paedrin looked as if he were ready to continue arguing until dawn. Annon looked from one to the other.
“Please, sit down. I need your help to think this through.”
Hettie came down next to him. “What is it? Do you remember something?”
Paedrin cocked his head curiously.
“My mentor came and saw me recently. He is a Druidecht, of course, and he gave me a warning. He warned me about visiting my uncle. He said that my uncle might try and persuade me to go north. Into the Scourgelands.”
For a moment there was nothing but silence and the snap and hiss of the fire.
Annon stared into the darkened woods. “He warned me about trusting my uncle. That he has no care or feeling for anyone, even his own kin.”
Paedrin stared at him hard. “That would have been helpful to know before leaving Kenatos.”
Annon bit his lip, shaking his head slowly. “I was so startled to learn that I had a sister that I forgot all about the warning. Reeder told me that years ago Tyrus led a group into the Scourgelands. None of them survived. He was the only one who did.” Annon tapped his palm. “I think that perhaps he did not tell us everything about his intentions for us.”
Erasmus’s voice floated toward them. “Tyrus Paracelsus takes counsel from no man or woman. He keeps his own counsel. As do I. From what you have said tonight, I think he is like a spider, catching many flies in the same web.”
Hettie grabbed a stick and jammed it into the fire. “I hate this.”
“Hate what? That we are being manipulated?” Annon asked, half smiling.
“But to what purpose?” Paedrin said. “What is there to fear in the Scourgelands?”
Erasmus sat up, the firelight playing off the grooves in his face. “That is just the thing, sheep-brains. The only man known to have ever survived that place is the one who has brought us all here by this fire tonight.”
“It is not recorded when the Plague began. Every kingdom was ravaged and their populations decimated. Some races have ceased to exist. The remaining few banded together, united in a single cause—to preserve knowledge. Thus was the formation of Kenatos. It was created as the last bastion of knowledge. No one kingdom would rule it. All contributed to its survival by donating books and provisions and wealth. We do have records dating back to the founding of Kenatos. None describes when the Plague began. If we have learned anything, we have learned this: it is not the strongest of the races that survives, or the most intelligent. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change. Thus only the Aeduan race will survive the Plague. All others races will succumb to it.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Annon awoke from the dream, startled by the thoughts whispered into his mind from a pair of Jasmine spirits. They were night dwellers who only came out during the moonlight. As he blinked awake, he smelled their sweet aroma.
You are hunted, Druidecht. A band of Preachán, roaming the woods in the dark. There is a Vaettir among them. The leader. Be warned.
Annon swallowed the rising panic. How far away? He pushed the thought at them.
Far still. These woods are vast, and they fear being found out by the Cruithne. They hunt you, Druidecht. Be warned!
The two spirits flitted away, taking the smell with them. Annon rolled onto his stomach, nestled in the blanket for warmth, for there was a chill in the night and streamers of fog above the trees. He heard voices speaking in low tones and cocked his head slightly. It was Paedrin and Hettie. They sat side by side, their voices hushed to avoid waking anyone.
“But you are free,” Paedrin said. “We cannot be bound by traditions invented by madmen for the purposes of enslaving others. These are traditions, Hettie. They are not binding.”
“Traditions can be more binding than sturdy ropes,” she answered. “You don’t understand.”
“You are right. I don’t. I don’t see why you cannot just walk away. There are places you could go—Kenatos for example—where the Romani will not be able to take you.”
She snorted derisively. “You are a fool if you think Kenatos is safe from the Romani. They operate within the walls of the city through a guild, of sorts.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
“Exactly my point. Fear feeds these sorts of traditions. They want you to believe that there is nowhere you can go. They use fear to keep you from thinking, from believing in yourself. You are free already. You do not need to pay a king’s ransom to earn it. You are free now. Accept it.”